yet. And we go back a long way, Pan and me. He wouldn’t begrudge a bit of house room for an old chum. So, first thing in the morning, I’m going to phone that TV station and leave a message for him.’
‘I see,’ said Sandra stiffly. ‘And you think—’
‘Yes.’ Osiris scowled. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel that at my time of life I’d be better off with my own kind. I’ve made my mind up, and—’
‘It’ll all end in tears, you mark my words.’
‘I’m a god,’ Osiris said grimly, ‘and I’ll do what I damn well please. I invented free will, dammit, so why shouldn’t I have some for a change?’
Sandra shrugged, and put the tray on his lap. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘that’s fine. Only what makes you so sure this Pan person will want you descending on him out of the blue and getting under his feet?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Osiris said, and a grin the size of Oklahoma spread slowly across his face. ‘That’s not going to be a problem, you mark my words.’
‘Eat your nice tea.’
‘And that’s another thing . . .’
‘Or,’ Sandra said meaningfully, ‘there’ll be second helpings of everything.’
‘Oh. Right. Yes.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Thor said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve and scrabbling in the toolbox. ‘I can fix it. No problem. Just get out of my light and let the dog see the . . .’
To the gods, all things are known. ‘I still think it’s the main bearing,’ Odin said. ‘Else why was it making that tapping noise?’
‘What tapping noise?’
‘I distinctly heard a tapping noise five minutes or so before she seized,’ Odin replied. ‘I’d have mentioned it only you’d have bitten my head off.’
‘I’m hungry,’ Frey observed, from under the shade of his golf umbrella. ‘We’ve missed dinner and breakfast and I’m damned if we’re going to miss lunch too.’
‘Belt up, Frey,’ Thor replied, rubbing his beard with his oily left hand. ‘Odin, can you remember which way round the cotter pin’s supposed to go on this axle?’
Frey stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand. In front of him, the Alps rose in dizzying white majesty, blinding in the cold, clear sunshine. ‘Are you sure that’s Matlock over there?’ he asked.
‘Nowhere else it could be,’ Odin replied. ‘But look at the map if you don’t believe me.’
‘I think I’ll just go for a stroll.’
‘Don’t get lost.’
Frey grinned. ‘I’m only going as far as the nearest place they sell food,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be very long.’
He walked away down the slope, picking his way with care through the rocks. Hm, he thought, gazing out over the surrounding landscape, so that’s why they call this the Peak District.
He hadn’t gone far when he came across a man and a woman walking slowly up the hill. The man was about sixty, the woman perhaps a year younger; they were plainly but neatly dressed, and the man was leading a laden donkey. Frey smiled; here was a source of inside information.
Now there is a well-established tradition that when the gods walk abroad among men, they do so in some form of disguise; gods manifest themselves as beggars or weary travellers, goddesses as washerwomen or old crones gathering firewood. Men say that this is typical underhand management behaviour, sneaking about and spying, like unmarked police patrol cars on motorways. Gods know that the real reason is to spare gods the embarrassment of not being recognised by their adoring worshippers. Frey shrugged his shoulders and became in a fraction of a second a weary traveller à la mode ; aertex shirt damp with perspiration, heavy flight bag over one shoulder, suitcase in hand, crumpled sun-hat perched on head. He cleared his throat.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. The couple turned and looked at him.
‘Excuse me,’ he repeated, his memory trying to recollect the local cuisine of north Derbyshire, as reported by popular television drama.
‘I see,’ said Sandra stiffly. ‘And you think—’
‘Yes.’ Osiris scowled. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel that at my time of life I’d be better off with my own kind. I’ve made my mind up, and—’
‘It’ll all end in tears, you mark my words.’
‘I’m a god,’ Osiris said grimly, ‘and I’ll do what I damn well please. I invented free will, dammit, so why shouldn’t I have some for a change?’
Sandra shrugged, and put the tray on his lap. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘that’s fine. Only what makes you so sure this Pan person will want you descending on him out of the blue and getting under his feet?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Osiris said, and a grin the size of Oklahoma spread slowly across his face. ‘That’s not going to be a problem, you mark my words.’
‘Eat your nice tea.’
‘And that’s another thing . . .’
‘Or,’ Sandra said meaningfully, ‘there’ll be second helpings of everything.’
‘Oh. Right. Yes.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Thor said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve and scrabbling in the toolbox. ‘I can fix it. No problem. Just get out of my light and let the dog see the . . .’
To the gods, all things are known. ‘I still think it’s the main bearing,’ Odin said. ‘Else why was it making that tapping noise?’
‘What tapping noise?’
‘I distinctly heard a tapping noise five minutes or so before she seized,’ Odin replied. ‘I’d have mentioned it only you’d have bitten my head off.’
‘I’m hungry,’ Frey observed, from under the shade of his golf umbrella. ‘We’ve missed dinner and breakfast and I’m damned if we’re going to miss lunch too.’
‘Belt up, Frey,’ Thor replied, rubbing his beard with his oily left hand. ‘Odin, can you remember which way round the cotter pin’s supposed to go on this axle?’
Frey stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand. In front of him, the Alps rose in dizzying white majesty, blinding in the cold, clear sunshine. ‘Are you sure that’s Matlock over there?’ he asked.
‘Nowhere else it could be,’ Odin replied. ‘But look at the map if you don’t believe me.’
‘I think I’ll just go for a stroll.’
‘Don’t get lost.’
Frey grinned. ‘I’m only going as far as the nearest place they sell food,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be very long.’
He walked away down the slope, picking his way with care through the rocks. Hm, he thought, gazing out over the surrounding landscape, so that’s why they call this the Peak District.
He hadn’t gone far when he came across a man and a woman walking slowly up the hill. The man was about sixty, the woman perhaps a year younger; they were plainly but neatly dressed, and the man was leading a laden donkey. Frey smiled; here was a source of inside information.
Now there is a well-established tradition that when the gods walk abroad among men, they do so in some form of disguise; gods manifest themselves as beggars or weary travellers, goddesses as washerwomen or old crones gathering firewood. Men say that this is typical underhand management behaviour, sneaking about and spying, like unmarked police patrol cars on motorways. Gods know that the real reason is to spare gods the embarrassment of not being recognised by their adoring worshippers. Frey shrugged his shoulders and became in a fraction of a second a weary traveller à la mode ; aertex shirt damp with perspiration, heavy flight bag over one shoulder, suitcase in hand, crumpled sun-hat perched on head. He cleared his throat.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. The couple turned and looked at him.
‘Excuse me,’ he repeated, his memory trying to recollect the local cuisine of north Derbyshire, as reported by popular television drama.
Similar Books
